Wicked Wings

The Bus

Peter knew which bus to take. It was the number 56, but the number 56 was late. Peter checked his cell phone for the time again and looked around. There had been a small gathering of students waiting with him before, but they got on his old bus. The bus that would have taken him to his old school. Just when he was about to open his phone to call the bus service, a bus rounded the corner. It had the number 56 flashing, but no destination. And while Peter knew that, logically, it probably wasn't the right bus, there was something that compelled him to get on. It was as if he was being drawn to it.

In the end, all Peter wanted to do was forget about what had happened the day before and listen to music. He made to take out his headphones, but a girl approached him. She was all attitude and bravado, with short brown hair that stuck out in all directions and a hard set expression. She wore an oversized jean jacket and a faded pair of red doc martins.

"These seats taken?" She sat down before Peter could answer.

"Uh...no," he cleared his throat nervously.

"What's your deal?"

"My deal?"

"Yeah," the girl crossed her arms over his chest. "I haven't seen you around."

Peter opened his mouth to reply just as a boy came bounding down the aisle. The same boy he'd met briefly the day before. The boy who had saved him from almost getting the stuffing beat out of him.

"Hey Jazz!" He smiled brightly. "Who's this?"

"He's new," the girl nudged Peter with her elbow. "Can't you tell? Looks like he hasn't had nineteen mental breakdowns and three point two heartbreaks yet."

"Speak for yourself, Jazz," the curly-haired boy snickered and flopped down next to Peter. He wasn't all that tall, but he was incredible charming with dancing blue eyes, a wide grin, and wild, sandy blonde hair. "Don't I know you?"

Peter looked down at his knees. "You helped me yesterday."

"Oh yeah! No big deal. I'm James, by the way. James MacCormack. Where you from, then?"

"I'm—uh—I'm from Birch Creek."

"Never heard of it."

"Nobody has," said Peter. A tall, lanky, boy with black hair and perfect complexion approach them slowly. He had his face in a notebook and only glanced up to offer them a small smile before sitting down.

"Heya Quincy!" James chirped. "Like it would kill you to say hello."

"Hello."

"Jeez, don't hurt yourself with all this conversation," Jazz tried to push Quincy's book down, but he pulled back and way from her.

"What? We'll just have the same conversations we have every year," the boy said lazily, without looking up from his notebook. "You'll ask, heya Quincy, you have a nice summer? And I'll say, sure did, I had a great time avoiding my brother while my father talked about insurance. And then James will talk about getting flying fines and Jazz will try and convince him that she's a better flyer than he is and then Vickie will tell us about how she met the love of her life by a lake."

A slender girl with long, platinum blonde hair, and gentle smile came up to them and sat beside Quincy. "It was a river," She glared at him. "And Brian isn't the love of my life."

"You dated a guy named Brian?" James chuckled. "Oh and hi Vickie. Glad you could join us."

"I wouldn't say I dated him. We just... went for coffee a few times."